All Summer Long

Page 12

“No.” She grabbed the clipboard and held on to it with both hands. “It’s more practical this way and I’m busy.”
“Or you’re doing your damnedest to deny your femininity.”
She held in a snort. “Please. Have you seen me? I’m not the least bit feminine.” Something her mother had pointed out endlessly when Charlie had been growing up. “I don’t care about that sort of thing.” She glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot. The other trainees had already left and Josh’s next cycling class hadn’t arrived. They were the only ones in the parking lot.
“What’s this all about?” she asked. “I thought we were just going to have sex.”
“This is having sex.”
“No one is na**d.”
“Flirting is foreplay. You’ll like it.”
“I doubt that.” Why did there have to be foreplay? Why couldn’t they just get to it and get it over with?
“Then I like it. It’s fun.”
She hadn’t thought of sex as being fun. To her, it was something to be endured for the greater good.
She sighed. “Why can’t you be a regular guy and just want to get to it?”
“Because just getting to it is what hurt you in the first place.”
The man saw too much, she thought, more impressed than annoyed. “So we have to flirt?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know how and I don’t think I’ll be very good at it.”
He flashed her another smile. “That’s the can-do spirit that we all admire.”
“Shut up or I’ll hurt you with my clipboard.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
Humor flashed in his eyes. And an invitation.
Charlie swallowed hard, then said, “I could so take you. I’m tough and you can’t possibly handle me.”
She felt stupid and vulnerable as she spoke. Exposing herself like that. Because there were a thousand horrible things Clay could say. Something along the lines of “Why would I want to?” or “You’re right. I couldn’t handle a woman as big as you.”
Instead he moved a little closer. “I’m good at handling.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. “I have no idea what to say. I suck at this.”
He surprised her by leaning in and kissing her. His lips lingered for a second, before he straightened. “Don’t worry about it. There’s a path to seduction, Charlie, and we’re going to walk every step. No matter how long it takes.”
With that, he turned and walked away. She had a bad feeling she was standing there, slack-jawed. Looking as stunned as she felt.
When he drove off, she was able to close her mouth. A few seconds later, movement returned and she could walk to her truck. But it was nearly an hour before the tingles he generated faded. In her book, that was going down in the win column.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DOMINIQUE HAD NEVER been in a fire station before. She knew what they were, that there were large vehicles and equipment. Burly men with axes. She even understood that her daughter was a firefighter, but knowing and seeing were different.
After stepping out of the limo and onto the curb, she paused.
“This is a mistake,” she murmured to herself.
Justice, wearing his usual dark suit and sunglasses, stood by her door. “Maybe not.”
“Do you have a family?” she asked.
“No, but I know they can be...difficult.”
She studied him for a moment. “I suspect you do,” she said, then sighed. “Fine. Here goes nothing.”
She walked up the wide driveway, toward the open garage doors. Fire trucks faced out. They were big and slightly intimidating. She couldn’t imagine riding in one, let alone driving one. No doubt there were professional drivers who took care of that sort of thing. A woman in a uniform looked up as Dominique approached.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see my daughter. Chantal.”
The other woman, forty-something with drab skin and lines around her eyes, shook her head. “Sorry. There’s no one here by that name.”
Dominique braced herself for the unpleasantness and said, “Charlie. You would know her as Charlie.”
The other woman’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, sure. Let me get her.”
Dominique smoothed the front of her jacket. In deference to small-town America, she’d dressed more casually. Tailored trousers, a silk blouse and a light jacket. She preferred a suit, but fitting in was important. She might be here awhile.
A door opened and Chantal stepped into the garage area. Dominique drew back when she saw her daughter’s dark blue uniform. The pants were terribly unflattering and the short-sleeved shirt was boxy.
“Mother,” Chantal said warily. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you. We need to talk.”
“I’m at work.”
“You don’t seem very busy.”
“I’m still at work. You’re the one who always told me that without an excellent rehearsal there can’t be an excellent performance.”
“I’m amazed you remembered.”
“I did and this is my rehearsal time. We can talk later. When I’m not on duty.”
“When will that be?”
Before Chantal could answer, a horrendously loud sound cut through the quiet afternoon. It was followed by a voice blaring out something about an accident, followed by an intersection.
Dominique found herself in the middle of frantic activity. People burst into the garage area from all directions. Chantal grabbed her by the arm, dragged her over to the wall and pushed her onto a bench.
“Stay here until we’re gone,” she commanded, then turned and ran.
Dominique bounced back to her feet. “Where are you going? You can’t simply walk away from me like this.”
Chantal took off at a run and didn’t glance back. In what seemed like seconds, people in fireman coats and pants were climbing onto the biggest truck. The ambulance beside it pulled out and turned left onto the street. As soon as it was out of sight, she heard the siren begin.
Someone who looked suspiciously like her daughter opened the driver’s door of the biggest truck and climbed inside.
“Chantal?” Dominique asked, unable to believe what she was seeing.
The driver gave her a quick glance before starting the engine. Dominique sank back onto the bench as the vehicle followed the ambulance.
She doubted it had been even two minutes since the first alarm. Where there had been controlled chaos, there was now silence. Just as unsettling was the realization that her daughter had been the one driving.
Until recently Dominique hadn’t spent much time thinking about her daughter’s day-to-day life. She knew Chantal worked for the fire department, but had never considered what it was she did there. Seeing Chantal in real time wasn’t comforting. There was no place for her in this world. She could never belong, never fit in. The sad truth was she was alone. She was also aware that she really had no one else to blame for that state.
Collecting her small Fendi bag, she walked out of the fire station. Justice was waiting by the limo.
“It was a fire or an accident,” he told her. “An emergency. She had to go.”
She gave him a smile. “You’re being very kind.” She glanced around. “I’m going to walk. Why don’t you take the car back to the hotel.”
He nodded and climbed back into the limo.
Chantal’s station was in the middle of town. It was a Saturday morning and many people were enjoying the late-summer morning. She saw families together, mothers with daughters. A couple of teenage girls were laughing, each holding a Starbucks cup.
Growing up, Dominique had never had close friends. There was no time. She’d started dancing when she was three and hadn’t stopped until she’d retired some forty years later. Her childhood had been spent studying dance. At sixteen, she’d joined her first ballet company. She’d soloed at seventeen, became a principal dancer at twenty. She toured the world, was a guest in the most prestigious ballet companies and starred in several television productions.
There had been no time for “normal” pursuits, nor had she been interested. She’d lived a life others could only dream of. She was wealthy, beautiful, remarkable. And lonely, she admitted to herself. Her recent health scare had shown her how isolated she’d become. There had been no one to call, no close friends to visit her in the hospital. No one she trusted to see her looking anything but her best.
She stopped in front of a bookstore. There was a display of mysteries by Liz Sutton. A sign declared her to be a local author. Dominique stepped inside to buy a copy of her latest release. Perhaps a novel would help pass the time until she decided what to do next.
She paid for her purchase, but before she could leave, two women approached. One was about her age, the other a decade or two older. The white-haired woman was dressed in a suit that seemed expensive.
“You must be Dominique Guérin,” the older woman said with a friendly smile. She held out her hand. “I’m Marsha Tilson, the mayor of Fool’s Gold. I’ve so wanted to meet you. How nice we could run into you today.”
Dominique shook hands with her, pleased to have been recognized. “Mayor Tilson.”
“Please, call me Marsha. This is my friend May Stryker.” Marsha smiled at the dark-haired woman. “Or is it May Simpson?”
May laughed. “I haven’t decided.” She turned to Dominique. “I was recently married. While I love my husband, I must admit I’ve been a Stryker for so long, I can’t imagine getting used to another name. Glen swears he doesn’t care, so I’m still making up my mind.”
Dominique listened with feigned interest. Something she’d perfected as a child. People were forever telling her things about their lives that she didn’t find the least bit compelling.
May seemed friendly enough, but her clothes! She wore jeans and a worn short-sleeved shirt. Her face had held up over time, but she had freckles and her arms were a little saggy.
“We were going to get a coffee,” Marsha said. “Would you like to join us?”
“I, ah...” Dominique hesitated, not wanting to bother with the women. But she reminded herself that the only cure for loneliness was company. Better this than nothing. “That would be nice. Thank you.”
They walked to the Starbucks on the corner and went inside. Once there, they stood in line and then ordered. Dominique was used to an assistant bringing her coffee. Things were different now, she reminded herself. She would have to get familiar with things like standing in line and ordering for herself.
Once they were seated, May smiled at her. “I know your daughter. Charlie keeps her horse at our ranch.”
Dominique stared at her, not sure which was more horrifying. That May called Chantal Charlie or that her daughter had a horse.
“She rides?”
“Very well. You didn’t know?”
“No.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I thought...” May shifted in the chair.
Marsha, who had much better posture than her friend, lightly touched May’s arm. Dominique knew it was some kind of silent communication but couldn’t figure out what was being said.
“I’ve come here to visit her,” Dominique announced. “Chantal. That’s her actual name. She seems less than thrilled to see me. We’re not close.”
“That must be difficult for you,” Marsha said.
“It is. I know what you’re thinking. That my life has been wonderful. But everyone forgets there’s a price to fame and thousands of hours of hard work went into each performance. Then I lost my husband and Chantal left.”
“Teenagers,” Marsha said. “I know that story. I lost touch with my daughter, as well.”
“Chantal could have stayed in touch with me,” Dominique continued. “I’m the one who was traveling. I’m the one with the difficult schedule. But would she? Of course not. Do you know what she does for a living?”
“She’s an engineer,” May said.
“No, she’s not. She drives a fire truck. My daughter. Astonishing.”
Marsha and May exchanged a glance. Marsha leaned toward Dominique.
“Charlie, um, Chantal, drives the engine. You might know it better as the pumper truck. She is responsible for getting the engine to the emergency. She also operates the pump panels. They determine the amount of water flowing to the hoses. The captain is in charge and Charlie acts as a second in command.”
“Thank you for the explanation,” Dominique said, her voice more brittle than she would like. Although she appreciated the information, she hardly needed a stranger lecturing her on the details of her daughter’s job.
May leaned toward her. “I know this is hard.”
“How?” Dominique demanded. “How do you know that at all?”
“I have three boys of my own. Sometimes staying close is difficult. I’d love to help.”
“I don’t need help. I need a more obedient daughter.” Dominique rose. “It was lovely to meet you both. If you’ll excuse me.”
She left her coffee on the table and walked out. As she stood on the sidewalk, she blinked against the bright sunlight. After slipping on her sunglasses, she told herself the burning in her eyes had nothing to do with the sharp pain in her heart. Nothing at all.
“Dominique?”
She turned and saw May had followed her. “Yes?”
May handed her a piece of paper. “My phone number. In case you want to talk.”